Sunday, August 06, 2006

TWO POEMS WRITTEN RECENTLY

Haven't posted anything for a while, so here goes with another couple of recent efforts.

Twin Sets and Pearl Necklaces

Respectable granny

it rings in my head,

but when I pull on my jeans

I feel naughty instead.

I don’t want to sit

by the fire every night,

or tuck myself in

lest the bedbugs should bite.

I turn up the volume

and wind down the glass

as I drop down a gear

and pull out just to pass

The sensible lady

who paddles along,

with her head fixed straight forward

and face oh so long.

I’m counting the days

till I fulfil a dream

with Sir Mick and Keith Richards

it should be a scream.

I’ve grown to enjoy

living all on my own,

where I play Primal Scream

and of course Rolling Stones.

I’ve taught all the grand bairns

the joy of the jive,

and the art of enjoying

each day we’re alive.

It doesn’t cost money,

to laugh or give cuddles,

if they take this to heart

their lives won’t be a struggle.

So I’ll try to be good

as all grannies should be,

but twin sets and pearl necklaces

are not meant for me.

I’ll just stick to the tee shirt

my favourite old friend,

maybe buy a new Stones’ one,

and set a new trend.

I’m too old to be rock chick

I’m more like a hen,

but this hen aint done clucking

there’s still much to learn.

There’s the whales in Alaska

canoes on Lake Louise,

the elephants of Africa,

the call of the seas.

It’s what makes life exciting

the draw of the unknown

once I’ve found all the answers

I will settle at home.



I dedicate this poem to a very courageous man, Philip Blenkinsop.



THE PLIGHT OF THE HMONG

He took many pictures in 2003

he took their names and heard their stories.

They in turn flung themselves at his feet,

thinking he was their saviour,

not just some man with a camera and a story to write.

What he learnt then and now is how cruel life can be,

how atrocities are still happening,

right there, right now as we pull up our chair to

enjoy poached eggs on toast and read what scandals

the red tops have found this week.

Little swollen bellies, distended with hunger

don’t understand why their parents always look so sad, so haunted,

they are too young to remember big brothers shot in the head.

The Hmong fled China to escape persecution,

many were trained by the C.I.A. to fight with the Americans

in the hell hole of Vietnam,

with the promise of freedom and a future once the war was won.

Forty thousand lost their lives

and they were left with broken promises.

In desperation many escaped to Thailand

some even managed to reach the United States,

where people turned their backs

and didn’t want to know.

And then the Lao military swept in promising to slay every last

American collaborator still trapped in the wilderness.

Blenkinsop, wanted to know their story and found them,

deep in the jungle, alone, betrayed, frightened and angry.

Hunted and shot like rats, in the year of 2006.

What price humanity?

What price conscience?

Those not shot face starvation.

Bang Yang an orphan, mother and widow

by the time she was fifteen years old

has sobbed herself dry,

no one comes for her, tomorrow will be the same as today.

Everyone must read their story,

everyone must pray that somebody, somewhere

has the power to stop this torture

and salute Blenkinsop for having the courage to

take his pictures.